Virgin Knight Who Is the Frontier Lord in the Gender Switched World - Chapter 91

Lying on the bed.

Though Faust-sama suggested taking a nap, I cannot sleep.

The reason is not fatigue, nor is it because I’m troubled.

It’s because it’s noisy.

“Am I seriously losing my mind?”

The sound of hitting a large tree with a mace.

It sounded like a monkey, but it was definitely a human voice.

Mixed with it were incomprehensible screams like Ki-ee, Uraraa, and Mekikii.

Indeed, I spoke to the Mother of the Cologne sect, asking her to please stop so I could sleep peacefully.

She interpreted it as it being okay to continue after noon.

Shockingly, she interpreted it in a way that was convenient for her, that cleric.

Perhaps it’s okay to hit her now?

“My immediate goal should be, shouldn’t it? To strike down that mad assistant priest and gain the power to do so.”

Lying on the bed, I question myself while looking up at the ceiling.

After all, this world operates on the survival of the fittest.

The weak die, and the strong survive.

That’s the natural order, especially here in the Cologne sect’s territory.

Winning is what matters, no matter what it takes.

Even if it’s a crossbow, which the Pope has forbidden, if it works, then use it freely.

That’s how they live.

“Can’t you say that this isn’t what true clerics are supposed to be?”

Historically, monasteries were places to preserve knowledge, withdraw from the secular world, and introspect.

The traditional monasteries haven’t disappeared.

But over time, they’ve strayed far from their original purpose.

They own bishoprics and monastic lands, host knightly orders, and exert both secular lordship and military force.

The clerics hold formidable power, visible to anyone.

In the Cologne sect, especially, their movements have been particularly notable recently.

Though an old faction, it’s a minor one.

Initially, they were an unremarkable presence.

However, they became famous because they seemed to gather only pure lunatics, a fighting group.

They were mad even before they got their hands on gunpowder.

When the lord went to war, they were eager to participate.

The main role of the military mother is healing, funerals, and soothing the troops.

That would have been fine; feudal lords even asked for it.

But, as discussed in the morning conversation between Faust-sama and the Mother, the Cologne sect strongly demands participation as combatants.

They fight among themselves on the battlefield without grudges, not for the purpose of attacking or defending against pagans.

They had purposes like honor, wealth, and devotion to God, but even those weren’t there.

They fight together with the lord who recognizes their land and faith, and the parishioners, to deliver efficient blows to the enemy and kill as many of the enemy as possible.

Such killings are not a problem.

It’s merely eliminating enemies to protect the beloved followers.

“Where has the sisterly love, the friendship seen as charity, gone?”

Sadly, it was hardly seen in the Cologne sect.

Anyway, it’s a minor faction famous for being crazy.

Until a little while ago, that was all.

Since they got their hands on gunpowder, they have become even crazier.

Muskets.

Still an imperfect weapon.

Its range is too short, and its accuracy too low.

A musket that can pierce a plate mail breastplate is indeed attractive.

But that’s the power when conditions are perfect, and helmets and breastplates are already adapting to bullets.

Helmets and breastplates will still be effective against bullets.

“For now.”

Times are changing.

Regarding muskets, I have some thoughts from a statement Faust-sama previously leaked to Sabine, the captain of the Second Princess’s royal guards.

It will be a keyword that drastically changes the battlefield in the future.

But let’s stop thinking about that for now.

What needs to be considered now is about the Cologne sect.

Anyway, gunpowder.

I’ve heard that the Cologne sect has become even crazier since they touched gunpowder.

Knowledge from my mother Caroline, knowledge from Faust-sama, mixing it all up in my brain.

“Increase in the number of followers.”

I spread my hands and fold one finger.

To get muskets cheaply, you must be baptized into the Cologne faction.

Naturally, mercenaries who like guns have all become part of the Cologne faction.

Their families too.

In some cases, even feudal lords who like guns have converted to the Cologne faction.

Just that has increased followers by tens of thousands.

“Development of the bishopric.”

I fold another finger.

A riverside city lined with workshops for weapons and firearms.

The development of that city has been unprecedented in recent years.

The Cologne faction is investing all the alms of the followers into the development of firearms.

All the sacred funds from across the Holy Gusten Empire are poured into it, and these weapons then pass into the hands of Cologne sect mercenaries and knights who desire superior weaponry.

Killing the enemy is the only way they see to protect their followers.

Solemn ceremonies, stone buildings, the peace of everyday life.

Sadly, what other denominations do is considered meaningless by them.

The reason the Cologne faction’s church in the capital city of Anhalt is merely a small church, though called a cathedral, is not just because they’re a minor faction.

They even consider luxury as impurity in the struggle.

They’ve sadly misunderstood the meaning of asceticism.

**Chapter 91: The Election of the Bishop of the Cologne sect to Cardinal**

I fold the third finger.

A bishop of the Cologne sect is one of the mere seven cardinals.

Perhaps related to the previously mentioned two points?

Or does the current bishop of the Cologne sect have that much capability?

It’s beyond someone like me to understand.

It could be both, for all I know.

Anyway, the bishop of the Cologne sect is considered a significant advisor to the Pope.

“Firearms, huh?”

I fold the remaining two fingers.

With the mind of a naive nine-year-old, I could only list three main points.

The conclusion is gunpowder.

With its explosive power, the Cologne sect has expanded its number of followers, increased its strength, and reinforced its authority.

“KIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

“Annoying.”

The cries like a monkey and the sound of hitting a large tree with a mace can be heard.

I wanted to shoot them in the head with their beloved muskets.

Why doesn’t Faust-sama get angry?

He may cherish clerics, but surely he has the right to be angry.

He should even have the right to hit them.

I think it’s okay to beat them until they can’t move.

Originally, this room was where Faust-sama lived until he inherited the Polydoro territory—until the former, Lady Marianne, passed away.

Did young Faust-sama not get angry?

I think he probably did, but he must have gotten used to it or given up.

Known as the Knight of Wrath, the usual Faust-sama is unpretentious and kind.

Occasionally, there are things he simply cannot forgive, and in those moments, when the world does not conform to his mysterious ethics and intelligence, he erupts.

He becomes thoughtless—indeed, I think that personality needs correcting.

Yet, it is impossible for 22-year-old Faust-sama to correct it now.

Someone, help.

Clearly, someone needs to be Faust-sama’s assistant.

I have no idea who.

Me.

I wish I were a bit older.

I might have been of some help.

But as a nine-year-old, I can neither stand beside him on the battlefield nor be of intellectual use.

I cannot bend Faust-sama’s will.

“…”

I’m getting a bit sleepy.

“KIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

The mad behavior continues.

I want a musket.

With it, I’ll shoot that assistant priest in the head.

One shot.

I’ll finish her off in one blow so she can go to God’s side without suffering.

Harboring such murderous intent—

“Meow.”

The sound of a cat.

Marianne the cat is scratching at the other side of the door.

She seems to want to come in.

I’m getting sleepier, but I get up to open the door.

“Meow.”

“Faust-sama isn’t here, you know.”

This room used to be Faust-sama’s room.

I wonder if Marianne is mistaken.

She rubs her forehead and tail against my leg as she passes through.

Then, she jumps onto the bed, curls up at the corner, and settles down.

“Is that your favorite spot? I’m sorry for taking it.”

“Meow.”

She meows back as if replying, then closes her eyes.

It must be nice being a cat, just sleeping the time away.

I can’t seem to stop thinking when I’m bothered by something.

When I don’t understand something, I keep asking questions, and since I was young, I’ve often stumped mother Caroline—ah.

That’s not good.

Sitting on the bed, I stroke Marianne.

Cats are nice.

While petting her, I can forget about the unpleasant worldly matters, the disagreeable things, the things I don’t want to remember.

“…I wish I could be a cat.”

Of course, I understand that such a thing is impossible.

I change my position and lie down.

I pull a feather-filled blanket around me and wrap my body in it.

My sleepiness has become stronger than before.

I decide to sleep until dinner.

After all, I am a nine-year-old.

I need to sleep well for the growth of my body and intellect.

My thoughts float vaguely, becoming ethereal.

I’m almost able to sleep.

“KIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”

If only that noise would stop.

My thoughts scatter.

I arrange the fluffy thoughts in my mind.

Things I must do in the Polydoro territory.

“The spy of Duchess Astarte.”

“The training as a squire by Faust-sama.”

Things I’m curious about.

“The mysteries of the Polydoro territory. The relationship between the Polydoro family and its people.”

“The status of the Cologne sect’s firearms development.”

Things I want to do.

“Knocking down the assistant priest of the Cologne sect.”

“Finding an aide for Faust-sama.”

Is that all?

No, there’s one more unfulfilled wish.

My mother, Caroline.

No—

Didn’t I refuse it?

That kind word from Faust-sama when we went to the Virendorf border, “Even a grave within my territory if you wish.”

Didn’t I cruelly refuse it?

Creating a grave for a traitor would bring criticism to Faust-sama.

I refused for that reason.

I should have cut off my lingering feelings.

I should have forgotten about such a foolish person.

From a young age, whenever I asked questions, my mother, Caroline, would frown, seek answers from the monastery library or clerics, and always come back days later with a response.

She was trusted by vassals and people, fought in all military duties for the territory, and upheld the honor of the Bösel family.

My mother, Caroline von Bösel.

Once a person I was proud of.

—In the public eye, she was nothing more than a narrow-minded, foolish traitor who stained her hands with the blood of the people of the Anhalt province and made all the wrong judgments.

She deserved criticism and more than that, ridicule.

“…”

My mother Caroline was a great sinner.

What happened to the head that Faust-sama took and was inspected by Her Majesty Queen Liesenlotte, I don’t know.

It’s unlikely she was buried in a communal graveyard.

Maybe she was fed to pigs.

Perhaps thrown in the forest, eaten by wild dogs or insects.

I couldn’t ask Faust-sama about her fate.

I cannot burden him with further troubles and heartache.

My mother was an evil and foolish person.

She attacked the royal lands she was supposed to protect, killed many people, took men away, and tried to sell her country to Virendorf.

She deceived her own people, led them to death, and ultimately brought destruction to the Bösel territory.

As a human, she was an outlaw who broke every contract and precept; as a noble, she was nothing but foolish.

—Forget it.

That’s what I think.

She was a worthless person.

Every time Faust-sama mentions my mother’s name, I have to assert that.

Forget it.

My mother was a foolish person.

“Meow.”

Marianne, who had been curled up, stands up while meowing and walks up beside my face, licking my cheek.

Marianne’s tongue licks something off my cheek.

The rough sensation was comforting.

“Ah.”

A sob escapes my lips.

After all, this world is about the survival of the fittest.

The weak die, and the strong live.

And my mother lacked everything—resolve, grace, vision, intelligence, strength.

The desperate struggles of a fool naturally led to the expected outcome.

Everyone thinks so, and looking at the facts, it is indeed true.

Yet.

Yet.

For me—

“…”

My thoughts, like a closing flower, gradually diminish.

And then, I fall into sleep.